


End of Story

by Fluffifullness



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Depressing, Durarara!! Kink Meme, Everything Hurts, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Necrophilia, Rough Sex, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffifullness/pseuds/Fluffifullness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touching his hair, he finds it still warm, still dark fluff and yes – it’s sticking up in a few places, maybe the very spots where Izaya had held his head throbbing and bruising as his vision blurred, as something inside him died.</p><p>And with that something, the rest of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of Story

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the [Durarara!! kink meme](http://drrrkink.livejournal.com/6253.html?thread=24842861#t24842861).

Izaya parts his lips to moan – soft, threatened – and even that sound is unsteady, too high-pitched for simple pleasure. He’s been holding his mouth shut in a pale death grip of whimpers-only, but there’s the unmistakable glint of arousal in his eyes – tears, too, but he only rarely sheds any. He has his pride, after all, and Shizuo has his strength – more than enough to drag sound and just about anything else from Izaya.

The smaller man shudders and reaches back to tangle his fingers in Shizuo’s hair. The touch is light, barely-there and he pulls his hand back quickly as Shizuo comes slamming back into his prostate with force he barely bothers trying to restrain.

Izaya laughs softly, face still turned, as always, to focus on Shizuo’s. “Ngh… Shizu-chan, so rough…”

Shizuo grins and thrusts deeper, faster, harder. Izaya moans again, breath coming in hurt waves of want. His hands fist tighter in the sheets by his chest, the curve of his back straining into Shizuo’s hands where they are held tightly to his hips. There are bruises visible there already, budding out from beneath Shizuo’s grip and probably dark enough to keep Izaya from walking for a day or two to come.

“Drooling,” Shizuo grunts. “Like a fucking slut.”

“Hahhh… d-don’t pretend you – nyah – don’t love it, too, Sh-Shizu-chan,” Izaya pants. The blonde’s nickname turns into another moan, a long ‘n’ sound and something resembling a sob.

He’s not crying. “Up,” Shizuo growls, and he doesn’t wait for Izaya to respond before reaching down to grab one of his shoulders.

He picks the informant up and positions him so that he’s curled partway over the headboard, ass still raised above his head to grant Shizuo better access. The shifting about is awkward at best, and the movement – Shizuo still inside of Izaya, wriggling back and forth with Izaya’s walls pulling tight about him – practically drives both of them crazy.

Izaya mewls softly and uses his arms to shove himself back onto Shizuo’s cock. _Move. Move._ “Shizu-chan…”

Shizuo shivers, enjoying the soft flesh of Izaya’s legs sheathed in his own hands, smooth skin and sweat-slicked tremors. He drives them farther apart and buries himself balls-deep again. It’s almost as if he might split Izaya clean in half, and even though he can no longer see the smaller man’s face he knows that the pain there reflects that.

He grunts and pulls back for another thrust. This one is stronger, a quick snap of his muscles and just about everything – strength-wise – that he has to give. Izaya cries out as he’s sent barreling headfirst into the wall in front of him.

There’s a sickening crack, and when Shizuo pulls back breathless and close to the edge he can feel Izaya’s muscles relaxing. “Flea, oi. You okay?” Vaguely annoyed, because how can he faint _now?_

For a moment there’s no response, and then Izaya forces – _is_ he forcing it? – a laugh and seems to shake himself. “Y-yeah, I – I can keep going,” he mumbles.

Shizuo thinks for a moment that he can hear Izaya’s voice slurring, but the informant doesn’t say anything else. And Shizuo wants to keep going. He wants Izaya. And Izaya sinks his head lower like he does sometimes when he’s trying to hide how badly he wants the same thing.

Shizuo redoubles his efforts, even reaches around to stroke the underside of Izaya’s taut cock and the heated flesh of his balls. He makes up for that gentleness – can’t help it, not with Izaya mewling and whimpering like that – with extra force, extra bruises and little cries from Izaya. He keeps asking for more of everything, and Shizuo gives it to him like only he can.

Every thrust feels better than the last – and then Shizuo can’t hold himself back anymore. He comes with a breathy sigh and Izaya’s muscles spasm around him, seeming almost to pull him deeper in an attempt to claw the informant’s body the rest of the way to orgasm.

Shizuo keeps going and shudders pleasurably at the slippery, wet noises of his cock sliding in and out – more gentle now, still no finesse but a little more catering to what he thinks’ll feel better to the flea – and Izaya finally tightens and jerks forward with a little yelp as he comes all over pillows and wood.

Shizuo waits for something – a taunt, maybe, a request or something like that – but Izaya is silent again. He sits impatiently still for a moment – saying nothing because it’s supposed to be Izaya who has the first word – but Shizuo’s no good at self-restraint and at the very least he figures he can pull out without upsetting the bastard.

There’s more than enough there to lubricate his cock as it parts with Izaya’s stretched-wide hole, dragging with it a string of semen and a minute shiver that runs from the base of the informant’s spine all the way to the top.

“Don’t plan on talking?” Shizuo grumbles, lifting Izaya’s limp-again body and laying it down on a dry spot amidst a plush comforter and pale sheets.

Izaya shakes his head weakly – face still hidden, body seeming to convey dejection, pain, betrayal. “Tired,” he mumbles. “Let’s sleep.”

“You said you had something to tell me, right?” Shizuo prompts.

Izaya twitches, and one of his hands curls into a loose fist.

“…Later.”

 

**~~~**

 

Shizuo wakes up shivering. His bedroom is cold – did he forget to turn the heat on before? – and he’s lying completely uncovered on the bed. He turns his head stiffly to one side and catches a glimpse of the sheets and comforter forming a little mound on the floor. He’s still naked, sticky with sweat and vaguely hungry, and to top all that off it looks like either he or Izaya forgot to turn of the lamp on the bedside table.

Damn… so annoying…

A glance to the other side reveals Izaya’s sleeping form – hands and legs pulled close to his chest, he’s barely moving despite the temperature of the room.

It’s still dark, dammit, and Shizuo would go back to sleep if it weren’t for the blue-turning cold of mid-winter. He rolls over and grabs a handful of fabric to haul whatever he can get back up onto the bed. They’ll be cold, too, after laying on the floor, so he’ll have to wait for them to warm up before he can really hope to fall asleep again…

…but that’s not his only option, is it?

Grinning, he drops the blankets once more and moves over to press his chest to Izaya’s back. “Hey,” he purrs. “Up for another round?”

No response. So, he’s asleep, then.

Shizuo’s fine with that. He sighs softly – warm air gusting and tickling against the back of Izaya’s neck – and plays abstractedly with the soft ends of his hair. Izaya doesn’t stir, really, so Shizuo lets his hand drift down to trace the contours of his thin back.

He’s really cute, actually. There’s no limit to how much the flea can annoy Shizuo, but there’s really something about him.

The fact that he can’t be broken, maybe. The way he’s been softening his manner lately, becoming more approachable and less interested in seriously pissing Shizuo off every time he sees him. The way his eyes light up sometimes, the frustrated look he gets when his hair sticks up funny in the morning and his little smiles.

There’s the teasing one, of course, the better-than-thou superior one and the one he wears when he talks about humans.

The ones he’s started to reserve just for Shizuo.

And Shizuo… doesn’t know how it all happened, really, these nighttime things and eventually sleeping beside each other on a regular basis. The seeing each other on the street and not throwing things or chasing each other but smiling like the secret they share is something worth smiling about.

(That’s one of the special smiles, the ones Shizuo had never seen until recently.)

It’s hard to always know what Izaya’s thinking and feeling, but Shizuo kind of hopes he feels the same way.

Like he might be in love, too.

It’s a strange thought, one that still doesn’t seem to belong between the two of them, but they have plenty of time – endless time, lots of months and years and long nights – to work up to that kind of thing.

A grin tugs at the corners of Shizuo’s lips as he presses his face to the back of his lover’s neck. _(His_ shampoo is minty, Shizuo notes, and it’s funny how well it suits him.) Izaya may not be shivering all that much, but he can’t be feeling a lot warmer than Shizuo – not to the touch, anyway – and Shizuo can think of at least one thing that the informant definitely wouldn’t mind waking up to.

He drapes his arm over Izaya’s slight form and finds his cock without looking.

Starts to rub slow circles in the head while he forces the other’s legs apart with his foot.

Nibbles at the smooth skin of his neck, teeth and lips and sucking lightly.

Feels himself getting hard, but Izaya’s apparently not all that into his lame attempt at finesse.

Gets frustrated after slow circles turn to light squeezes and gentle sucking to biting.

Rolls Izaya onto his back, pulls his arms – no resistance, no quiet groan or irritated sigh – away from his chest and leans in to nibble at the pink of his nipples.

Freezes, eyes going wide wide wide.

What?

“Izaya…”

Izaya doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. His eyes don’t open and his chest doesn’t rise or fall.

“Izaya…!”

He’s too pale, too pale even for Izaya. He’s too cold to be so still.

“Goddammit, Izaya, open your eyes – come on, you – you –”

_– had something to tell me, something I think I’ve been wanting to hear for a long time…_

Shizuo shakes him once, twice, harder and harder and he _just won’t_ _move._

“Izaya,” Shizuo groans, more vehement now that the thought’s already formed loud and clear in his mind. “Izaya, please, I’ve never done anything like this, I’ve never killed anyone –”

And another, even clearer and sharper and so incredibly painful that Shizuo finds no air in the small room, no nothing but water on his cheeks and Izaya’s – warm and salty and regret-laden and how could he have been so fucking _stupid?_

“I need you,” he chokes. “Fuck, Izaya, I can’t – this can’t – not without you, it’s not even Ikebukuro if you’re not in it –”

Stupid.

He gathers Izaya up into a tight hug, choking on tears and pleas and feeling that soft hair on his cheek.

Still warm, still dark fluff and yes – it’s sticking up in a few places, maybe the very spots where Izaya had held his head throbbing and bruising as his vision blurred, as something inside him died.

And with that something, the rest of him.

Stupid.

It’s too late. They’re both falling fast, and there’s nothing there to catch them but cold stares and ribbons of gossip.

It’ll never come to anything.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. You should never have come. You should have said something – I should have noticed. Or woken up or stopped and called you an ambulance.”

Or this, or that. None of it even matters, does it?

There’s something sitting beneath the lamp, orange-lit and – right, the pad of paper Izaya brought a while back. For love notes, he’d teased, but there’d been a little something more to that joke.

An undercurrent that’d run through all the left-behind notes that followed.

_You should repaint your room. It’s so boring._

_I liked the smell of your shampoo this time. Strawberry, right? That’s so cute, Shizu-chan!_

Every time they’ve slept together, every meeting they’ve had in this room. Neither of them has ever said a word about it, but Izaya never fails to write something.

_Dinner tonight was really good. Make curry next time, okay?_

_Black and white suit you better, after all._

_Your laugh is nice, Shizu-chan. When you’re not faking it. If you did that more often, I bet more girls would like you._

_Meet me at my place next time._

There’s a new note there now, longer and harder to read. The handwriting looks bad from a distance, but that’s why Shizuo swallows hard and crawls closer with Izaya still cradled in his arms – hoping, clinging to the last thread of a man undone.

It’s from Izaya.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_[You’re hard to wake up, Shizu-chan, so I guess this is the best I can do at this point. Not too long ago I’d definitely have preferred it if you blamed yourself forever – but things are different now, huh?_

_Not that you ever change._

_Remember that I wanted to tell you something?_

_You’ll probably hate me for saying it now, but I don’t particularly care anymore._

_I might love you, Shizu-chan. Let’s live together, okay?]_


End file.
